


Listen to Me

by MaggieMaybe160



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel Wings, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Blood, Blood and Injury, Car Accidents, Castiel (Supernatural)'s Handprint, Episode: s12e01 Keep Calm and Carry On, Episode: s12e02 Mamma Mia, Happy Memories, Heavy Angst, Homophobia, Injury, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Love Confessions, M/M, Major Character Injury, Murder, Pining, Torture, Tragedy, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-21 04:59:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17636387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaggieMaybe160/pseuds/MaggieMaybe160
Summary: Amara was given the thing she needed most so she gives Dean what he needs. What if John Winchester came back instead of Mary?





	1. Chapter 1

The Darkness looked down as she took her brother’s hand. “Dean,” she glanced up at him, “you gave me what I needed most. I want to do the same for you.” Her words were haunting, but Dean only had enough time to see the slight smile flicker on her face before she and Chuck were gone.

Dean looked around. Nothing else had changed. He was no longer a bomb. There was no one else in this strange garden. There was nothing out of place. The two gods were back to being absent, back to their void. 

Dean thought about the words.  _ What I needed most _ . He didn’t know what he needed other than returning to his brother and his angel and revealing that he had succeeded without having to blow himself up. He had survived and been diffused. He needed a stiff drink. 

He left the garden and remembered that he had been teleported there. Baby wasn’t waiting right outside, parked at a curb. There was no curb. There was no parking lot. There was just miles of forest and fields. What kind of dumbass location was this for an indoor garden? 

The light was back to normal. With the warring gods gone, the Sun was no longer dying in a spectacular show of light. The night sky was a cold blanket now. It looked as if nothing had ever threatened to kill this solar system. It all seemed so normal. 

He pulled out his phone to try to get a GPS signal or try to call Cas or Sam but his half battery phone was getting no service. Dean swore and put his phone in his pocket, walking toward a gap in the trees. He had to get somewhere decent at some point. 

After trampling through some more trees, Dean pulled out his phone and checked the signal. Still not a single bar, Dean looked away from his phone. 

“Come on. Where the hell am I?” 

“Hello?” Dean heard a voice in the not so far distance. It wasn’t just any voice. It was the voice of John Winchester. But, it couldn’t be. He had died nine years ago. 

Dean followed the calls and saw him. He looked the same as he had the day he died and the day he’d gone to Heaven. Dean couldn’t tell if he was happy or sad to see him. He turned and saw Dean. His face hardened. 

“Dad?” Dean said aloud, his disbelief clear in his voice. John only stared. He looked ready to fight but without any weapons. His eyes darted to the smartphone in Dean’s hand and back up to his face. Dean pocketed the phone. 

“I, uh,” Dean faltered. “Are you really here?” Dean made no move toward his father. He felt as if his feet were planted to the spot. 

“Dean?” John asked. “Is that really you, son?”

“Yeah, dad, it’s me.” 

“You look different,” John’s unease showed on his face. “Older.”

“It’s only been nine years since you died,” Dean answered. They were mentally circling each other. He itched to test whether or not this was really his father. 

“Nine years,” John breathed. It was like Dean had punched him in the gut. 

“Look, I know if it’s really you, you’d understand. I have to test you,” Dean said, pulling out a silver knife and pouring holy water over it from a vial he kept in his pocket. “Me first,” Dean said, slicing into his hand. It stung but he was used to it. John watched before rolling up his sleeves and baring his arm to his son. Dean pressed the blade into his dad’s arm and watched for any and all reactions. With the only reaction being a small wince from the initial pain, Dean wiped the blade on his jeans.

“Dean,” John smiled sadly. He patted his son on the shoulder and Dean flinched. John didn’t notice. 

“I have to get back. Are you coming?” Dean asked. 

“Back? Back where?” 

“Back home.” Dean didn’t offer more information. John nodded and followed Dean out of the park. There was a path this time that led to an empty parking lot. Mostly empty. One car remained and Dean knew how to hot wire. 

“We’ll ditch this and walk the rest of the way when we get close enough,” Dean said as he sparked the wires. 

“You lost the Impala?” John asked, making Dean’s stomach flip. 

“No, she’s at home.” Dean clenched his jaw as he stepped on the gas. 

The car was silent as Dean found his way to the freeway going toward Lebanon, Kansas. John seemed to be taking in the world again, staring out the window and making quick glances to look at his oldest son. 

“I was dead, then?” John asked quietly. 

“You don’t remember Hell or Heaven?” Dean responded. 

“I… No.” John shook his head and ran a hand over his tired face. 

“Well, here’s a recap,” Dean smiled a humorless smile. “You went to Hell after you saved me and told me to kill my brother. A gate to Hell was opened and you helped us kill old yellow eyes. You were sent upstairs. I took a trip to Hell myself. Sam did, too. We got better. Now you’re back.” 

“You both went to Hell?” John seemed legitimately surprised. 

“Not at the same time, but yeah,” Dean nodded. 

“Where is your brother?” 

“He should be back at home right now thinking I’m dead.” Dean didn’t bother with specifics. It would mean nothing to this man. 

“I am glad to see you, Dean,” John said quietly. 

“Yeah? Me too,” Dean lied with a small smile to match his father’s. 

“It’s just a little strange being back after so long,” John shook his head, looking outside again. “Like so much has happened without me.” Dean didn’t answer. 

“I need to call Sam,” Dean said after a few full minutes of silence. He pulled out his phone and tapped the screen. It started ringing and Dean waited. No answer. He tried three different numbers. There were no answers. He pocketed his phone again. 

 

Dean pulled over into a ditch. There was about a mile’s walk back to the bunker from here. The sun was already up, lighting the way to the bunker. John followed Dean, trying to spot a house or motel in any direction but there was neither. 

Finally, they came across a door set into a hill. John watched Dean unlock it and stepped inside. John looked around. It was the first time Dean had ever seen the man impressed. 

“You live here?” John asked. 

“Yeah, when we’re not on the road. It’s an old Men of Letters bunker.” Dean started down the stairs with John on his heels. 

“Men of Letters? Dean, you know better. They’re a myth.” There was the disappointment that Dean was oh so used to hearing in his father’s voice. 

“Not so much,” Dean countered with a tired sigh as they reached the bottom of the staircase. 

Both stopped dead at the smear of blood on the floor. 

“That’s blood,” John said dumbly. 

“Yeah, that’s blood,” Dean agreed, worry seeping into his voice as he took out his gun and flipped the safety off. He took a few trained steps forward, motioning for his dad to stay where he was. “Sammy? Cas?”

No one answered. 

Dean kept walking, searching along the drips and smears of blood for answers. He paused, his stomach flipping. On the wall between the entrance and library was a sigil that explained Cas missing. The sigil that sent angels back to Heaven. Dean hated to see it in his home that he shared with his angel. It meant battle and war. It wasn’t something Dean had expected. 

He walked back to the war room table and handed John the gun that he kept under the table. He made a signal with his hand that told his father he was going to search the bunker. John nodded and watched Dean disappear into the hallway. 

Dean heard the bunker door shut and careful steps enter. “Hands in the air! On your knees” John barked. 

“Who are you and where is Sam?” Dean heard Cas say. He sounded exhausted. He turned and found his dad with his gun pointed at Castiel’s head. 

“Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa!” Dean yelled, stepping between the gun and his angel. “It’s okay!” He lowered John’s gun for him. “It’s okay. He’s a friend.” 

John watched the eyes of the  _ friend _ fill with relief and obvious affection as they fell on Dean. Dean’s eyes did the same. The  _ friend _ opened his arms at the same time as Dean, the two men hugging each other fiercely. 

“Dean!” 

“Cas,” Dean answered at the same time. “Cas, it’s okay.”

John watched and tried to swallow his distaste. Maybe it wasn’t what it looked like. His son was in the arms of another man. They couldn’t let go of each other as they whispered each other’s names, relief apparent on both ends. 

“Dean,” Cas said as he broke the hug, “you’re alive?” They stared at each other, the entire room and world nonexistent during their reunion. 

“Yeah,” Dean smiled a little. He looked relaxed even as his  _ friend _ looked so intense he was shaking. 

“What about the bomb? The Darkness? What happened?” Cas demanded, his anxieties and love plain in his voice. John tried not to flinch. 

“I’ll tell you everything,” Dean promised. John noticed the lingering hand hold before Dean finally dropped it. “Where is Sam?”

“He’s not here?” Without Dean’s hand, Cas was suddenly breathless. Dean searched his face, disbelief making him pale. 

“Are you a hunter?” John asked as Cas turned away from Dean. 

“No, I’m an-”

“Angel,” Dean finished for him. 

“Come again,” John glared at his son. 

“An angel,” Dean said again. “You know. Capital A, wings, harp.”

“I don’t have a harp,” Cas corrected quickly. Dean gave an uneasy smile. 

“This is Castiel,” Dean said. The name in the Dean’s mouth sounded more like a love letter than the name of a monster. Cas had his brows furrowed, his face guarded, as he stared at John. His eyes switched to Dean as he turned, almost as if they were fine tuned to each other’s every movement.

“Cas, this is John,” Dean said, his lips pressing together. “Winchester.” Cas stared at his hunter in confusion and disbelief and maybe a hint of anger. 

“Your father,” Cas looked away from Dean, his eyes on the floor in front of John. He couldn’t look at him. He looked everywhere but at John. 

“So wait. Where is Sam? He’s not answering his phone. There’s blood on the floor.” John didn’t exist anymore. It was all Dean and Cas, their bodies turned toward each other and their eyes belonged solely to the other. 

“I don’t know,” Cas said. “We came back here. There was a woman waiting for us.” He turned briefly, looking at the blood but his eyes looked as if he was replaying the scene. Could angels do that? “She blasted me away. I don’t know who she was. I don’t know what happened to Sam.” The defeat in his voice caused Dean to almost reach out but he stopped himself. Their eyes locked for a fraction of a second before Cas looked away. 

“I’m sorry. What?” John’s face was a mixture of confusion and disappointment. 

“The bunker’s empty,” Dean ignored his father, still looking at Cas. “That means they left here. You said a woman. So not an angel. Not a demon? Human?” Dean had recaptured his angel. They were standing close, but purposefully not touching. 

“She was human,” Cas said seriously. His eyes were trained on Dean intensely, but not in the way that said he was this intense all the time. It was a passion filled gaze that spoke of an unspoken intensity between just them. 

“When did this go down?” Dean asked, breaking away and sitting down at the desk. 

“It was two twelve a.m.” 

Dean opened the laptop and started typing. 

“Is that a computer?” John asked. Dean ignored him still. 

“Yes,” Cas answered despite John’s obvious discomfort. “I don’t trust them.” 

“Got something,” Dean said. Cas and John both stepped forward to look. “An SUV ran a red light a few blocks from here at two twenty-one a.m." 

“Do you think it’s them?” Cas asked. 

“Worth a shot,” Dean answered, looking up at his angel. 


	2. Chapter 2

They had all split to gather what they needed before leaving. Dean brought John down to the armory. He grabbed a green duffel bag and opened it, putting it on an empty shelf. 

“What’s through there?” John asked as he placed loaded guns into the bag as he had once trained his son to do. 

“What?” Dean looked to where his dad was looking. “Oh. We call it the dungeon. It’s got demon traps in there and some other cool stuff.” Dean smirked and returned to putting the guns into the bag. 

“I’ve got this, Dean. What else needs to be packed?” 

“Okay,” Dean stepped away from the duffel. “I’ll be back in ten.” He turned and walked out of the room. 

Dean made his way through the maze of the bunker and found Cas in the library, searching the plates of the SUV that had most likely taken Sam. 

“I know I was supposed to look after him,” Cas said quietly as Dean came up behind him. Dean rested his hands on his angel’s shoulders and gave a reassuring squeeze.

“You can’t take the blame when that ugly sigil is there,” Dean said. “It’s not your fault.”

“Dean,” Cas sighed. 

“Really, Cas. It’s not your fault and we’ll find him.” 

Cas got up from his seat and took Dean into his arms again. Dean wrapped his arms around Cas automatically. He smiled into the collar of the trench coat. 

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” Cas said into Dean’s shoulder. 

“Me too, Cas.” They were silent for a moment, neither willing to break the embrace. Dean let his eyes close out the world around them. 

“We need to go,” Dean whispered. Cas released him but their hands caught for just a second. 

Dean ran his hand through his hair as he left the room. He willed the blush in his cheeks to fade as he made his way back to the armory. The bag was still there, filled to the same point that he had left it. John was gone. 

“Dean!” Cas’ yell filled the bunker and Dean’s ears. Dean’s heart screeched to a halt in his chest before slamming against his ribcage again. He ran back to the library. John stood with Cas on his knees before him. Cas’ hands were in the sigiled cuffs from the dungeon. 

“Let him go,” Dean said, his voice cold and still. His eyes flickered between his father and his angel. 

“Listen to me,” John said. It was the same tone of voice he had used when training Dean as a kid. It was the same tone of voice that had turned Dean into a murderer. “I don’t care who you fuck, but it’s never going to be a monster and it’s never going to be a god damn man!” John kicked Cas, making him fall flat. 

Dean lurched forward but was stopped when his father punched him at just the right angle to make Dean fall and the world go black. 

 

Dean lifted his heavy head. He struggled against the bonds keeping him upright in a chair. He opened his eyes and found Cas on the floor in front of him, the angel cuffs still on him. 

“Dean,” Cas scrambled closer to him. “You’re awake.”

“Cas,” Dean answered thickly. “Where is he? Can you untie me?” 

“He is right here,” John said from behind Dean, stepping out of the corner of the room and into Dean’s vision. Cas’ hand gripped Dean’s knee in fear. 

“So this is what happens when your old man isn’t around to keep you _straightened_ _out_?” John asked, eyeing the angel that was kneeling before his son. “Listen to me, Dean. Things can’t continue like this.” 

“Let him go and beat me all you want,” Dean said through gritted teeth. 

“I’ll let him go,” John said with a nod. He took the key from his pocket and wrenched Castiel’s hands off of Dean. Dean exhaled. “But you’re going to watch him get beaten,” John said, grabbing a fistful of the angel’s hair with one hand and punching him with the other, the key curled into his fist. 

Cas didn’t fight back. His blue eyes stayed on Dean. He was willing to take this beating for his hunter. John punched him again, getting angrier the longer he went without a reaction from Cas. 

“Cas,” Dean begged, “fight back.” He strained against his bonds, his hands working at the expert knots keeping him bound. 

Cas listened, his eyes shifting to John as he attacked back. Cas slammed John into the wall as Dean struggled against the ropes as the two men fought. Cas let out a grunt and Dean yelled. 

There was a flash of silver as the angel blade slipped into Cas’ hand. John reacted quickly, grabbing the angel’s wrist and tightening his grip until Cas dropped the blade. Dean almost had the rope untied. 

John shoved Cas so the angel was on his knees again as he grabbed the angel blade from the floor. He kicked Cas so he was turned toward Dean. The angel blade’s point was at his throat, his blue eyes trained on Dean. 

“This is sick,” John said. “The way you look at this thing is disgusting, Dean.” 

“I’m not allowed to have friends?” Dean asked, covering the sound of him working on the ropes behind his back. 

“You’re allowed friends.” John nodded before shaking his head. “I’m not blind and you’re not stupid. If you haven’t already fucked this thing, then you want to.” John laughed a disgusted and humorless laugh. “Friends,” he added with disbelief. 

“Don’t hurt him. I love him,” Dean admitted, his eyes locked on his angel. Cas’ eyes softened. 

The blade slid through Cas’ throat as if in slow motion. His eyes lit up with the same light that shone from his mouth as he let out a scream that sounded like Dean’s name. Dean screamed as the rope gave way and he rushed to catch his angel. 

“Cas!”  Dean screamed. Dean pulled Cas against him, shaking violently. 

“I forgot,” John said. He grabbed Cas’ bound wrists and pushed the key into the lock, the cuffs falling from the angel’s wrists. 

Dean laid Castiel down on the floor. His hands burned with the scars of his angel’s wings but he ignored it. He stood and dragged his eyes from Cas to his father. His father who was holding the angel blade marked with the name, Castiel. 

This is what he needed most. This. 

His fist punched into John’s face. 

This is what he needed. 

He was no longer shaking, steady as he beat his father. There was nothing more in him to stop himself.

This is what he needed. 

His hands were slamming John into the ground. The blade had rolled from John’s hand. 

“Listen to me!” John yelled, blood spraying from his lips to Dean’s hands and face. Dean was done listening. He had heard enough. 

This is what he needed most in the world. 

“Dean!” John gagged as Dean’s hands tightened on his father’s throat. He kicked his legs and his hands were clawing at Dean’s but there was nothing left to feel for Dean. He stared into John Winchester’s eyes. 

“I gave her what she needed most so she gave me what I needed most in all the world.” Dean’s voice was chillingly calm. 

John’s mouth formed the word, “please,” as his eyes rolled back. Dean let go. 

“I didn’t need you,” Dean laughed. He stood up, watching his dad suck in the air, holding his bruised neck. “I needed to kill you.”

Dean grabbed a fistful of John’s hair and slammed his skull into the cement floor. There was a loud crack but Dean couldn’t hear it over Amara’s voice in his head.  _ What I needed most in the world. _ He slammed again. Blood spilled onto the floor. He continued to smash his father’s skull into the ground, each crack and crunch deafened to Dean, masked by his grief and rage.

_ Listen to me.  _

_ What I needed most.  _

_ Listen to me. _

_ Listen to me.  _

_ Listen _

_ To _

_ Me.  _

He dropped the limp body and went back to Cas, cradling his angel against his chest. His blue eyes were still open, staring up into Dean’s face as Dean let out his first sob. The hunter’s hands tightened on the trench coat, balling the fabric into his fists. His fingertips were white with the pressure. 

_ I love him. _ At least he had made sure Cas knew before… this. At least his angel had died knowing that Dean was in love with him. 

Dean stroked his thumb down the cold cheek, wiping away his tears that had fallen onto Cas’ face. With two gentle fingers he closed Cas’ eyes. His trembling fingers hovered over the cold skin. 

“Cas,” Dean said as more tears spilled. 

He pulled Cas into his arms bridal style, his angel’s head falling against his shoulder. Automatically his head met Cas’, his cheek brushing against the soft dark hair. He stood carefully and walked out of the dungeon. 

He walked to his own bedroom and gently put Cas onto the bed. He could have been sleeping if not for the gaping hole in the side of his neck where his own angel blade had run through him by the hand of an ignorant man. 

“I have to go find Sammy,” Dean gulped. His hand rested on the unmoving hand of his angel. “Then I’ll be back to give you a proper funeral.” He walked to his door, his hand hitting the doorframe. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He wanted to say goodbye. No. He wanted to rewind to finding John Winchester in the park so that he could kill the bastard there. He wanted a better chance to tell Cas how he felt because confession under duress in a dungeon was not the romantic date that he’d had in mind for his big reveal. 

“I’m sorry,” Dean said quietly, his voice raw with emotion. “I’m so sorry, Cas.” 


	3. Chapter 3

Dean walked into the open garage of another man’s house. He was tired. He was so tired. He was also beyond emotion. “Jamie Ross?” Dean asked. His own voice sounded distant to him, but to the man working on his car, it sounded aggressive and intimidating. 

“Who's asking?” The man dried his hands on the towel. Dean smirked.

“What was the name of the woman you drove yesterday?” Dean asked, taking slow leisurely and vaguely threatening steps toward Jamie. “What was her name?” 

“Sorry, mate.” The man shook his head. He was lying and Dean could read it in his shifting eyes and fidgeting hands. He could see it in his pursed frown. 

Dean grabbed his shirt and punched him twice before moving his head to be in his eye line again. “Name, now.” Dean said, staring into the horrified face of his victim. 

“I- I- I don’t know her name,” the man said, finally telling the truth. He was shaking and his lips were bleeding now. 

“What  _ do _ you know?” Dean asked, grabbing a knife from his belt.

 

Leaving a blood bath and a body behind, Dean left the garage with new information. He sheathed his knife after wiping it clean and got back into his car, seeking the veterinary clinic. Dean parked and waited, his eyes on the small white office with the forest green sign. 

When the white clinic van pulled up, Dean pulled out his gun and left his car. He walked carefully and quietly, stalking the man up to the front door. He shoved the mouth of the gun against his back. 

He was so tired. He kept moving. 

“Doctor Marion, how about we go inside and chat?” Dean said roughly. 

The doctor hurriedly opened the door, shaking so hard he almost dropped his keys. Dean watched impatiently, nudging the gun against his shoulder to remind him to make it snappy. The door opened and they walked in together. Dean shut the door behind him and ordered the other man to sit. 

“Okay,” Dr. Marion said as he sat down in a chair facing Dean. 

“Okay,” Dean said, crossing his arms and tilting his head. “Yesterday, you pulled a bullet out of a human man. Correct, mister  _ veterinarian _ ?”  

“Yes,” He nodded. 

“So you dug the bullet out of his leg, no questions asked?” 

“She offered me a hundred grand,” he said calmly. He still looked scared. His eyes were wide and his hands were open to show his silent surrender. 

“She. Name. Now.” Dean ordered, punctuating his words by unfolding his arms and showing his gun again. 

“I don’t know her name!” He said quickly. “Look, when we were done, the driver bailed. I got paid. Then some other chick shows up and they all drive away.” 

“That’s all of it?” Dean asked. 

“All of it. Totally.” He looked away from Dean.  _ Liar. _

Dean rushed him, pushing his gun up under his chin, forcing the doctor to look him in the eye. He was shaking and breathing hard, a complete flip of Dean, who was still and appeared as calm as someone sitting and watching jeopardy. 

“See,” Dean smirked, “I think you’re lying a little. I think you  _ do _ know more.” 

“I know her phone number!” He yelled as Dean clicked the safety off. “I don’t know where they are! But- but- she called me a couple hours ago asking about the sedative gave the guy! I’ve got her phone number!” He promised. 

Dean stood back. 

“Call her.” He said, pointing to the phone on the desk with his gun. “Tell her you mixed up the sedative labels and give her a different name.” Dean grabbed a random bottle from a shelf and tossed it to him. 

“Okay.” He was still shaking as he grabbed the phone. 

“Dr. Marion,” a British woman answered. 

“I’m calling to check on the patient,” Dr. Marion said, looking at the phone in his hand. Dean was tracing the call, using a trick his baby brother had taught him. 

“Is everything alright, doctor?” the woman asked. Suspicion creeped into her voice and Dean shot the doctor a glare. 

“I gave you the wrong name of the sedative earlier,” he lied. “I grabbed the wrong bottle. Do you still need the information?” There was a pause as belief trumped her suspicions for a moment. 

“I’m hanging up now,” she said. The tracking wasn’t working. She was smarter than Dean had given her credit for. Dean grabbed the phone. 

“Listen, Bitch. I don’t care who you are. I don’t care what you want. You have my brother.” Dean felt the world falling away, his grief overwhelming his entire being and making him want to stop. 

“Dean Winchester,” she said his name like she knew him. “I heard you were dead.”

“Well, you heard wrong. Now, I’m going to give you one chance.” He pushed down any and all feeling, letting himself feel the empty that he once had when he had been a demon. “Just one, to hand Sam back.”

“Sorry, not possible.” 

“What, you think you can run from me? Try it.” Dean felt dangerous. “Cause when I find you… and I will find you,” Dean promised. “If he is not in one piece, I will take you apart.” He closed his eyes and it was a mistake. He saw his Dad on the floor of the dungeon, his skull smashed, pieces of bone stuck in the pool of blood that had leaked from his head. He opened his eyes again. “Do you understand me?” She hung up. 

“I can go now, right?” the doctor asked. Dean snapped the phone in half and dropped the two pieces onto the ground. 

“Right,” Dean said. He turned around and shot once. 

Dean got back in the Impala and tore away. In his wake slept four dead men.

 

He drove as his mind repeated that he just had to keep it together long enough to get Sammy and go. Not that what he was doing was keeping it together. He hadn’t even noticed that there was no music playing in his beloved car. 

His beloved car that was being crashed into. The Impala spun and Dean slammed on the brakes. He looked at the massive dent on the rear passenger side and his mind screamed  _ murder _ . 

“Dean Winchester.”

Dean turned around to face the sorry son of a bitch who had crashed their last car. She was leaning against her own car casually, like she was unaware of the fact that she was about to die. 

“I presume,” she added with a smile. “You should be more careful-”

Dean cut her off with a shot to the knee. She let out a cry as she fell. Her hands came out from behind her back to break her fall. On her hands were golden, sigiled, brass knuckles. Dean clicked his tongue. He shot her hand where it was on the pavement. 

“Are you one of ‘em?” Dean asked from where he stood, staring down at her. 

“I’m one of them,” she answered, struggling to get up. The shattered kneecap was doing her wonders. 

“Yeah,” Dean sighed. He took a few steps forward and kicked her over backwards and stepping onto her injured knee just enough to make her cry out. “You tell me where my brother is.” 

She was talking but none of it was information. It was all taunting and no promise. Dean was too tired and he honestly couldn’t care less about what she had to say unless it involved an address to pick Sam up at. He picked up his foot before slamming it down to the floor with her already destroyed kneecap between his boot and the pavement. 

The pain was too much for her. She fainted mid scream. Dean took a step back and looked at her briefly before going into her car. He found her cellphone and grabbed it, looking through it for anything he could find. 

She came to, groaning from the pain. Dean was standing so his head blocked the sun from her view. She might have been a trained killer but she still flinched when she saw him. Out of surprise or fear, Dean didn’t know and he didn’t care. 

“Found your cell phone in the car,” Dean said. “Last phone call was from Aldrich, Missouri. Guessing he’s probably there.”

“There’s a farm there,” she finally blurted out as Dean stepped forward, stepping on her good hand. His boot made a satisfying crunch from her fingers. 

“A farm?” He asked, pausing. She rushed out with the address and tried to get away from him with her one good leg. He rolled his eyes and stabbed her thigh, causing another muffled shriek as she tried to maintain dignity. 

Dean picked her up under the armpits and headbutted her when she struggled. He tossed her into the passenger seat of the car. 

“I’m going to drive you into that bush, kill you, and go get my brother,” Dean said. Her eyes widened but she still said nothing. He closed the door and went to the driver’s side. He hot wired it and drove it straight forward, off of the road. He parked and killed the engine. 

Unceremoniously, Dean slit her throat. Blood spilled but he didn’t watch. He was too busy leaving the car, wiping his prints, and covering the car in loose foliage. 

He walked back to his own car and got in. “Hey, baby,” he said as he started the Impala. 


	4. Chapter 4

Dean pulled up to an unassuming white farmhouse. In another life, it looked like a house that he could have imagined living in with Cas. His angel would have put in a garden and a few beehives. He would have grown all of their food fresh and Dean would have cooked it. His stomach twisted and he closed his eyes against the pain in his chest. 

He clenched his jaw and swallowed down the bile in his throat. He steadied his breathing and looked at the house again. He got out of his car and pulled out his gun. 

He wouldn’t think about what a house like this could have been. He wouldn’t think about what could have been if he had told Cas the truth years ago. He wouldn’t think about Cas. Not until Sammy was safe. 

Dean stalked toward the house and walked carefully around the outside, checking for traps and signs of his brother. The garage was both open and empty, abandoned looking. A single loud sound made Dean turn and leave the garage, walking toward where the sound had come from. 

He came across the wooden door to a hatch. He tested the rusted handle. It was locked. He debated just shooting it and entering. He looked up the side of the plain white house and back down to the wooden door before him. He cocked his gun and aimed but a golden light enveloped him. 

“Son of a bitch.” 

“Dean Winchester,” a blonde woman said in her too sweet voice. He already had cuffs on. She approached him slowly as if she was putting on a show of how feminine she looked. Dean didn’t answer. He clenched his jaw and let her lead him out of the room that they were standing in. 

“Your brother will be glad to see you,” she smiled. Dean didn’t react. They reached a white door and she stopped his walking. “Wait here for a moment.” She opened the door and stepped into the open doorway, looking down into the darkness.

“Screw yourself,” Sam’s voice came from the dark. Dean moved quickly. He raised his arms and pulled the woman back with the chain from his cuffs, digging into her throat. She twisted and shoved him down the stairs. 

“Dean,” Sam breathed.

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean said sadly. 

“I’m as happy to see him as you are,” the woman said, breaking their reunion. “Because you may be able to withstand my snapping apart your body joint by joint, can you watch it happen to Dean?” 

She walked down the steps slowly, watching both of the Winchester’s discomfort. Her small smirk died when she saw how dead Dean already looked. She grabbed his chain and yanked him away from his brother, tying his arms up. 

Dean let her. He knew what was coming and he needed it. 

She walked to a small cart that had many implements of torture on it. She grabbed the brass knuckles that had been on Dean’s last kill. She slipped them on and flexed her fingers around the metal before turning to Dean. She cracked his across the jaw. It stung but it was weaker than his own dad’s punch. 

“Passcodes, Sam,” she ordered, turning to look at his brother. Sam didn’t say anything. He only watched Dean with worry in his eyes. “Not yet?”

Dean spit the blood in his mouth onto the floor in front of him. 

“Anything to add?” She asked sweetly, looking at the bloody spit with slight distaste. 

“No,” Dean flashed a smile. “No, I just came by for some tea and a beating.” 

“Really?” She grinned a lipsticked grin. “See, I thought you might be on for a little chat about your mate, Benjamin Lafitte.” She butchered his last name and Dean didn’t answer. “I’m sorry. You called him Benny. You know, the vampire whom you released from Purgatory and befriended.” 

The way she said it reminded Dean of his father. The disgust and disappointment that dripped from her lips was the same that had spilled from John Winchester’s in his last day. 

“I see,” she said happily when Dean didn’t answer. She had swapped her tools for a cup of tea and took a casual sip. “Well, the English are nothing if not patient.” 

She set her china down and picked up the knuckles again. Dean ignored Sam’s pained look and stared down the blonde woman as she walked toward him again. 

She hit him a few times but it barely scratched the surface of his grief and self loathing. He could take all of the beatings in the world and nothing would hurt as bad as what his father had done to him that morning. 

“Are you going to fucking hit me or are you going to waste more of my time?” Dean asked. Sam made a noise of worry but Dean didn’t look over. He looked into the offended face of his captor. 

She stepped away from Dean and dropped the knuckles onto the tray. Her lipsticked mouth was pinched. She grazed her fingertips over the tools on the tray and picked up a silver one. It was silver, thin, and ended with a spike. It was short, probably used for torture alone or close quarter combat. 

She turned around to face Dean again, her finger poised at the sharp tip. She walked back to him. “Did you know it’s possible to die from pain?” She asked. Dean smirked. He wished it were that simple. Never for a Winchester. 

“Can you tell me the parts of the body most sensitive to intense pain?” Her voice was dripping with sweet cruelty. She grabbed his face, her fingers digging into his cheeks. “The eardrum,” she answered for him with the weapon next to his ear. “Decaying tooth,” she added, her eyes flickering to his mouth with a question there. “Below the belt, of course.” She met his eyes. “And my favorite,” she smiled gently, pointing the weapon at Dean’s eye, “under the eyelid.” 

“Stop talking and do it,” Dean said through gritted teeth. She released his face and without preamble, plunged the sharp tool into his ear. He let out a scream, blood pouring from his ear. 

“That’s better,” she smiled. 

A loud ringing in Dean’s head dulled his thoughts. She replaced the tool again, grabbing a pair of pliers. She wrenched open his mouth and shoved the pliers in. He gagged on the metal and the movement of his head after the trauma to his ear. He felt one of his molars being ripped. His scream was muffled as he felt the molar resisting. The edges of his vision turned black and his scream turned guttural as she tore it from his jaw, blood bubbling up from the empty socket and spilling out of his mouth. 

She held up the tooth with a small chunk of his jaw bone still attached.

He spit out the blood that was pooling in his mouth. His hands were curled into fists above him. He ran his fingers over the angel wings that were burned into the flesh. The memories of Cas dulled every ounce of pain that was inflicted upon him. Sam was protesting but Dean couldn’t hear him and the woman wasn’t listening. 

“So tell me,” her lips said. Dean could barely hear her over the ringing and the pain. The next part he heard crystal clear. “Where is your angel?” 

The pain became numb again. His head cleared. His muscles worked before he knew what he was doing. He ripped the chains that were keeping him bound from the ceiling. The chain broke and he was left with the shackles and two massive chunks of chains hanging from each one. 

She didn’t have time to scramble far enough away. His fist slammed into her. She fell to the ground and kicked up into his chest. She put up a good fight but not good enough. She deflected some of his blows. She rolled and tried to run but he caught her. She had made a mistake. 

Dean grabbed one of the heavy chains that was dangling from his wrist and wrapped it around her neck after catching her on the stairs. He pulled it tight, her back pressed against his torso. She struggled and Sam shouted warnings but Dean could only see his father’s hands. John’s hands pulling at Dean’s as his son choked him. 

“Listen to me,” Dean said, the words like acid in his aching mouth. “I killed the driver. I killed the vet. I killed your henchman and now I’m going to kill you.” 

His hands moved from the chain to the sides of her head and he jerked her head to the side quickly. There was a sickening snap that only Sam heard as Dean stared straight ahead. The woman went limp and Dean dropped her body to the floor. 

He grabbed the keys and unlocked his brother’s shackles before handing the keys to Sam and holding out his wrists. Sam was shaking. He unlocked the shackles and looked at Dean. 

“I thought you were dead.” Sam said.

“I’m not sure that I’m not,” Dean answered. Sam wrapped him in a tight hug. 

“Did you really..?” Sam couldn’t finish his own question. 

“Did I really kill everyone?” Dean asked as Sam let go of him. Sam nodded, swallowing hard. “Yes,” Dean answered. He grabbed his gun from where the woman had put it in the far corner of the room. 

“Congratulations,” a man’s voice came from the doorway. Dean turned, his gun pointed at the man. 

“Who are you?” Dean asked. “Don’t care,” he said, shooting twice into the man’s skull. 

“Dean!” Sam looked from his brother’s face to the two bodies at the foot of the stairs. 

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean said. Six kills, seven bodies left in his wake.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean led Sam out of the hell hole they had been in and started toward his car. Dean ripped off part of his own shirt and shoved it into his mouth to stop the bleeding. Sam followed, still speechless after watching the horror show. He was limping but tried to hide it, afraid of what Dean might say or do. 

“How long since you’ve eaten?” Dean asked as Sam got into the car. 

“I don’t know,” Sam said. He was starving but he was also sickened by everything he’d just watched. Dean’s ear was still bleeding. His mouth was, too even though he’d shoved the fabric in. 

“We’ll get some food in you and head home,” Dean started the car. Sam tried not to mention the massive dent on the back of the Impala, but he couldn’t keep his mouth shut about Cas. 

“Where’s Cas?” he asked gently. He watched Dean’s hands tighten on the wheel, his knuckles turning white. His jaw clenched and he winced from the pain, letting his jaw rest again. 

“What’re you in the mood for, Sammy? Pizza? Chicken? You name it.” 

“Uh, I could go for some chicken,” Sam said. 

 

Dean parked Baby in the garage and got out. The car ride had been silent. Sam had eaten at the restaurant, but between the pain in his skull and the grief in his soul, Dean didn’t have an appetite. 

His heart slammed against his chest as his hand rested on the doorknob of the bunker’s garage entrance. His eyes closed and he focused on his breathing. He felt like he was going to throw up and he didn’t know if it was because of the amount of blood he’d probably swallowed or what was facing him inside of his own home. 

This, nor anywhere else, would ever be home ever again. Not after this attack. Not without Cas. 

“Dean?” Sam asked behind him. Dean’s green eyes opened reluctantly. He stared at the door. 

He remembered walking through this door plenty of times, straight into his angel’s arms. He remembered sitting at the war room table, eating, laughing, drinking with his angel. He thought about the wounds he now had that Cas would have fixed up with a gentle touch, his hand caressing Dean’s injured face. 

Dean pushed the door open and walked through with a heavy sigh, steeling himself. He walked to their infirmary that they hadn’t really had any use for until now and pulled out the blood soaked wad of t-shirt. 

He turned around to Sam, who had followed him. He handed him the string and suture and knelt before his brother, closing his eyes and opening his mouth. 

“No numbing? No alcohol?” Sam asked, looking from the needle to his brother’s bleeding mouth. Dean just shook his head and waited. Sam took a deep breath and joined his brother on the floor. 

“Count of five, okay?” Sam said. Dean blinked once, his eyes on the ceiling. “One,” Sam said and plunged the needle into Dean’s gums. 

 

Dean came to and the “procedure” was over. His mouth ached and Sam was still sitting by his side looking worried. 

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean said, sitting up with a groan. The gauze in his mouth made his words sound odd. 

“Are you okay?” Sam asked. Dean ignored him. He got to his feet and swayed, putting an arm out to steady himself. “Dean?”

“I’m fine,” Dean said. “Just…go get cleaned up.” He left the room and started taking heavy steps toward his room. Each step felt like it would be his last. He stopped, closing his eyes and willing himself both not to puke and to keep walking. 

He did. His feet didn’t carry him to his own room, though. He stopped at a different door with a different number and his heart stuttered as he gulped and opened the door. It was Castiel’s room. 

Everything was perfect. It looked virtually untouched. The bed had never been slept in. The shelves for books were sparse. Dean sat on the bed and laid down. He tried not to think about the fact that he was in Cas’ bed while Cas was in his. He looked to his side, at the bedside table. 

Slowly, he reached over and tugged open the drawer, expecting to find nothing. He sat up abruptly. The only thing in this entire room that was used was this drawer. 

Dean’s shaking hand reached in and brought out a mixtape that read, “Dean’s top 13 Zepp Traxx”. He set it down on his leg and looked back into the drawer, his heart hammering in his chest as if it was trying to break free of the monster it was trapped inside. 

Dean stared at the chapstick in its yellow plastic. He remembered the day he had found it at the store. Burt’s Bees chapstick made with all of Cas’ favorite ingredients: beeswax, coconut, and sunflower. He had stopped at a farmer’s stand on the way home and grabbed a jar of fresh honey. 

 

_ Cas’ eyes lit up as he took the jar of honey from Dean’s hands. He smiled a small smile and thanked Dean.  _

_ “That’s not all. Here,” Dean handed him the chapstick. Cas held it and gave Dean a questioning look. “You’ve never used chapstick? That explains a lot.” Dean took the chapstick back from Cas and was about to pocket it.  _

_ “Show me,” Cas said, leaning forward. Dean nodded and turned pink. He uncapped the chapstick and applied it to his angel’s lips. Sure, he was just helping him… but there might have been a small possibility that he had agreed so he could stare at his mouth. His eyes lingered for a moment after he finished.  _

_ “Are my lips soft now?” Cas asked. Dean looked away, capping the chapstick again.  _

_ “How would I know?” Dean asked with a shrug. Cas leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Dean’s lips very quickly before sitting back again and looking at Dean for an answer. Dean’s breath was gone. He looked from Cas’ lips to his deep blue eyes. “Yeah, your lips are soft.” _

 

Dean shook the memory. He was crying, but he hadn’t yet noticed the tears streaming down his cheeks. He fished out the next piece of Cas, a small rock that had been worn smooth by hundreds of years at the beach. It was the color of Dean’s eyes. His hand tightened around it, the rock pressing against his burned hand. 

There was an FBI badge with the name “Eddie Moscone” from the first time Dean had ever gone on a hunt with his angel. It was the first FBI badge he had made for him. Cas had held it upside down, oblivious. Dean picked it up and held it upside down and looked at it for a moment. 

_ Listen to me, _ his dad’s voice rang through his head as he looked at the picture of Castiel on the badge. Dean clenched his jaw, regretting it immediately. He put everything back into the drawer. 

Dean willed himself to leave the room, closing it behind himself quietly. He pressed his back to the door and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to go to his room and face the reality of his father’s actions or his own. He had done this to himself. If he had barred himself from love and never allowed himself to fall for his angel, would this have happened? 

He walked down the hallway until he reached his door. He was breathing heavily now. Dean opened the door and his eyes fell on his angel. 

“Cas,” Dean breathed. He walked to the bedside and looked into the sleeping face of Castiel. He grabbed a sheet from his linen drawer and walked back to Cas, draping it over him. He should have done it before he had left, but he wanted there to be a possibility for Cas to wake up. 

He tucked the sheet around his feet and tied the sheet in place there with the sleeve from one of his flannels, ripping his own shirt apart. He tied the knot carefully and moved upward, tucking, wrapping, and tying. When he was done, he carried the body out of the bunker. 

 

Sam had lost Dean somewhere in the bunker. He had been trying to follow him but he turned a corner and his brother was gone. He looked around, but there were no clues. He walked to the library. 

A chair was overturned and there was blood smeared onto the usually spotless floor. Sam’s brow knitted. He hesitated, about to right the chair before thinking better of it and turning around to see if there was any more blood. There was nothing. 

He went back to the Impala and grabbed the small ammunition bag that Dean had packed. He walked the bag into the armory and found their green duffel bag, open and half filled on one of the shelves. He looked into it but left it where it was. He felt like he was investigating a memory rather than his home. 

The doors to the dungeon were closed, but something kept making him look at the doors. He swallowed hard and inched toward it. He would have thought nothing of it any other day, but dread was filling him and with the blood in the library and the abandoned weapon bag… He opened the doors. 

A chair with loose ropes was in the corner. Angel cuffs were discarded on the floor. A body of a man was lying face down, blood pooled around his head. Wings were burned into the floor and walls, minus one part that looked like it was the shape of a hand. 

Sam stared at the scene and felt himself start to breathe heavily. He walked slowly toward the body, trying not to look at the wings that answered his question about Cas. He walked around it and stared into the dead face of his father. Half of his face was broken, smashed into the cement floor. Sam gagged and scrambled backward. 

“Dean!” Sam yelled, running out of the dungeon and through the bunker. He heard a door slam. “Dean!” he yelled again, racing for the exit. 


	6. Chapter 6

_ “Wishful thinking, but maybe it’s just the wind!” Dean yelled. The roof of the barn was ready to give way. Noise filled the barn that was sigiled by his own hand. His wardings failed. _

_ The barn door burst open as the lights overhead sparked and exploded in a beautiful spray of light as the man walked in. His dark hair was beautiful and insane, sticking up and out. His suit was clean and covered by a tan trench coat. His shoes were shined. His eyes were intense blue, staring straight at Dean. He was beautiful and dangerous.  _

_ Dean shot him anyway. It didn’t slow him down. It didn’t stop him. He walked into each shot and didn’t flinch. His eyes remained on Dean, his face blank except for the energy swirling in the blue that Dean could see from where he stood. He was perfect and fierce.  _

_“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”_ _Dean could feel the handprints that were burned into his shoulders. They were this man’s handprints._

_ He looked more annoyed than hurt as he wrenched the demon knife out of his own chest, his eyes locked with Dean’s. He was unaffected and utterly indifferent to the sigils, the wardings, the gun shots, silver, and everything that Dean could throw at him. He was strong and he was, “Castiel.”  _

_ “I figured that much. I mean what are you?”  _

_ “I’m an Angel of the Lord.” His wings, dark and powerful, spread out behind him. Only their shadow could be seen by Dean but the shadow was enough. His heart screamed, already desperately fallen for this creature that he knew he couldn’t have.  _

_ “You don’t think you deserve to be saved.” Every word he spoke was true even though he had no right to know it at the time.  _

 

Dean was on his knees, weeping. In front of him was a pyre he’d built with his angel lifted up and ready to burn. He wished he still had those stupid handprints on his shoulders. He opened his hand and looked at the feathers that were burned into his palm. His tears dripped onto his burned skin. 

“Dean,” Sam said. Dean barely heard him. 

“Cas!” The name ripped from his throat as he sobbed, his hands balled into fists. Sam stopped dead, watching his brother mourn. There was nothing he could do to lessen this blow. 

Still crying, Dean stood slowly. His hands were shaking, but the rest of him was completely still. His green eyes were brighter somehow. He walked to the edge of the pyre and whispered, “I love you still.” He stayed there for a moment before opening his lighter and stepping away. 

Sam paid his respects from where he stood, letting Dean have his space. When the funeral was over, Dean sat down in the grass. His energy was depleted. 

Sam watched his brother’s legs crumple as he fell into the grass. He walked over slowly. Dean could hear the footsteps. 

“Dean,” Sam said softly. He sat down in the grass next to his brother. 

“Sammy,” Dean exhaled. “I got to live because I gave Amara what she needed most in the entire world. She reconnected with Chuck and off they went, abandoning his creations or whatever.” Sam didn’t answer, knowing there was more. 

“So, I got to live. I got to live and I received the  _ thing I needed most in this world. _ ” He laughed a little. It sounded hollow and a little scary. He laughed while tears were still running down his face, dripping into the grass. 

“She gave me dad.” The laugh was gone. His voice was raw. “I found our father, alive and well, in the park.” 

“Was he really dad?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah. It was him alright.” Dean nodded. “It was him.”

 

_“This is John… Winchester.”_ _  
__“Your father.”_

 

“He didn’t like Cas.” Dean choked. “No. He didn’t like the way Cas was with me,” he corrected himself.

 

_ “I don’t care who you fuck, but it’s never going to be a monster and it’s never going to be a god damn man!” _

 

“Did you kill him?” Sam asked. Dean swallowed hard and nodded, finally looking at his brother. 

“I didn’t even try to stop myself,” Dean said. “He murdered my…” 

“He killed Cas,” Sam whispered. Dean’s eyes closed and his face looked so pained that Sam flinched. “He murdered your angel.” 

“Cas,” Dean breathed. He opened his eyes and looked up at the night sky as he idly pressed his fingers against the feathers on his hand. “My angel.” 


End file.
